Page 34 of Surprises on the Scottish Isle

A vision of her dark hair spread across a pillow forced itself into his mind, and a jolt went through him. How many times had he seen her like that? Too many to count. And yet, not enough.

Cal gave himself a mental shake. The past was the past. Regret was pointless. He could no more reverse it than he could hold back the tide.

Inhaling deeply, he let the salt air fill his lungs, the smell of brine and seaweed both comforting and invigorating. Despite his lack of sleep, he felt more alive than he’d done for a while.

The surface of the loch was flat, a sheet of satin stretching to the opposite shore, the water a cerulean blue. Colours seemed more vivid this morning. The green of the grass near the shoreline would put an emerald ring to shame, and the damp rocks at the edge of the small shingle beach had an obsidian sheen where they weren’t hidden by strands of seaweed.

Cal placed his rod and tackle bag in the skiff, then checked the oars. AlthoughMisty Ladyhad an outboard motor, the damned thing was temperamental and had a tendency to cut out. Whenever that happened, he rowed back, hauled the boat out of the water and gave it a squirt of WD40 which normally got it going again. He really should get it seen to, but he never seemed to find the time.

The skiff entered the water with a splash, sending little wavelets over his wellies, but before the boots filled with water, he jumped in. Settling his backside on the seat nearest the bow, he inserted the oars into the locks and made sure they were secure, then he lowered the blades into the water and began to pull, quickly finding his rhythm.

The repetitive movement was soothing, and soon the boat was in the middle of the loch. His destination was a lump of rock near the far side, where he knew pollack could often be found. He would have to take care though. Despite the skiff being a shallow-bottomed boat and not drawing much water under its keel, many rocks lay just below the surface and could prove dangerous if he didn’t keep his wits about him.

For most of the short trip he’d been facing the way he’d come, and it was only when he stowed the oars and moved to sit at the stern so he could start the motor, did he realise that his gaze had been on the old boathouse and his mind had been on the woman who was living there.

He couldn’t think about her now, though. He needed to focus on navigating around the rocks, so with one hand on the tiller, he eased the skiff into what he hoped was a good position, then cut the engine.

The sudden cessation of noise made his ears ring, then gradually other sounds made themselves known – the gentle lap of the water against the hull and the rocks, the raucous call of a rook overhead, and the almost pig-like grunt of a cormorant, wings outstretched and beak lifted to the sky as it dried itself in the early morning sun.

A splash had him glancing around to find the sleek, speckled head of a common seal gazing at him, its dark, liquid eyes filled with curiosity. As he watched, it slowly slipped beneath the surface.

Moments like this filled his soul with joy, and he wished Bonnie was here to see it. She adored seals, and otters, although it was rare to spot one of those.

Yvaine wasn’t keen on Cal taking Bonnie out in the boat though, so he didn’t do it often. Despite Yvaine growing up on Skye and having all its amazing natural wonders on her doorstep, his ex-wife had never been an outdoorsy person. Ironic, considering that when he’d met her his job on a large estate north of Inverness meant he was outdoors most of the time. And even when he hadn’t been at work, he’d loved being outside – hiking, kayaking, watching wildlife. He should have realised then that he and Yvaine were never going to work.

But by the time he did, it was far, far too late.

He’d tried his darndest to make it work, though. He’d had to, for the baby’s sake.

Another splash caught his attention, this time a fish jumping, and aware of the time, he quickly set up his rod and attached the lure.

Cal spent the next hour happily dropping the line over the side of the boat then reeling it in at a steady rate. He performed this same action over and over until it was time to go back.

Three fish later (two pollack and one coalfish, all of whom he released back into the sea unharmed), he was done.

Feeling satisfied, he powered up the motor and puttered across the loch. He could have rowed back, but it was easier to use the outboard.

It also meant he was able to see the old boathouse directly ahead – but that hadn’t been a factor at all.

Early morning found Tara on the sofa, her feet tucked under her and a soft, cosy throw across her knees. Her book lay open on her lap, cover side up. After spending most of the short night tossing and turning, she’d eventually given up trying to sleep and had made some tea.

The drink had long since been consumed, and the mug sat on the side table next to her as she stared out of the window.

She had been gazing out of it for quite some time, ever since movement on the little beach had caught her attention. She’d stiffened and shrunk back a little, even though she was fairly sure Cal couldn’t see her. But hewaslooking, so she’d inched back even further.

A flock of birds flew noisily into the air, briefly obscuring her view of him, and when she could see him clearly again, he was no longer looking in the direction of the boathouse but was gazing out over the loch.

Free to study him without him being aware of her scrutiny, she drank in the sight.

The sun had just risen over the top of the mountains, highlighting the auburn of his hair, and casting a long shadow that reached to the water’s edge. Cal had filled out over the years. With broad shoulders and muscled legs, he was chunkier than she remembered, and she was fascinated by the bunch and flex of his body as he put his weight into pushing the small brown boat into the water.

When she’d first seen it, she’d assumed it to be a wreck, abandoned on the beach to slowly rot, and as Calan waded into the water and jumped into it, she hoped it was seaworthy.

He appeared to think it was, because he picked up a pair of oars and rowed the little boat to the other side of the loch. And as he rowed, he stared so intently at the boathouse that she was convinced he could see her.

She continued to watch, even when the distance between them grew too great to make out his face and his boat was little more than a dark shadow on the water.

Tara didn’t stop watching until Cal eventually returned to the sliver of shingle, dragged the boat out of the water, and disappeared into the path between the trees.

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